


Proving Otherwise

by scy



Category: Supernatural/X-men
Genre: Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-01
Updated: 2010-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-05 14:21:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scy/pseuds/scy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not everyone is what they seem, and some of that is hard to explain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proving Otherwise

**Author's Note:**

> Barb and I talk about crazy things some of the, actually a lot of the time. Somehow the idea of the Winchesters meeting a mutant came up. It seemed brilliant to both of us, so we kept at it. Then I discovered that I was *writing* it. Barb laughed and urged me on. Lattara added her opinion, made requests, and generally encouraged this story.

"There are headlines about paintings stolen from a private collection," Sam called out from the spot he'd claimed on the bed.

"Last time we ventured into the art world, a ghost stepped off a canvas and tried to gut you with a straight razor," Dean recalled.

"It was more my throat she was aiming for," Sam supplied.

"The details don't matter when you're bleeding," Dean said intractably, then turned to look at Sam. "And why is robbery interesting to us?"

"The crime resembles a series of thefts done over the last decade, and in one case they had a suspect."

"Where?" Dean asked.

"Asia."

"A globe trotting art thief," Dean said, sounding it out.

Sam stared at him. "Did you just say trotting?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." Sam gave him another disbelieving look and then entered a more specific set of search parameters. "Want to know something else?"

"What?"

"This is the second time that I can find an eyewitness' statement that says the thing that broke into the house had glowing red eyes."

"Like a demon," Dean said predictably, or sensibly.

"Exactly."

"The demon and its servants have all had yellow or black eyes," Dean reminded.

"So this could be a whole different type of monster," Sam said.

"One that has a hard-on for art?" Dean said, sorting through their stockpile of exorcism supplies. He sat up a little to show that he was listening. "You said that there were other accounts?"

"Twenty years ago in New Orleans, there's a sketchy account from thhild found on the street, he was taken in by a powerful businessman, Jean Paul Lebeau," Sam said.

"Good for him, what's the connection?"

"I'm getting to that. The boy he adopted formally, had red hair and, 'eyes like hellfire,' " Sam read.

"Same guy," Dean noted.

"Unless there are loads of them out there, it sounds like it," Sam said.

"Is there anything that'd tell us about its hunting habits, victims, unusual deaths at the same time of the sightings?" Dean asked.

"Based on how infrequently it shows up, I'd say there's some camouflage ability involved, and its origin seems to be New Orleans. It doesn't hang around there, though." Sam looked through the print outs he'd organized.

"Too many other freaks out there," Dean suggested. "Easy to get noticed, or maybe just following a person or cursed picture."

"That would be a good reason for it to head overseas."

"But not for sure," Dean said.

"I'm running another search to see if I can find anything that will narrow it down."

"Let me know when you've found something we can use," Dean said and laid back, apparently taking a nap and Sam continued to look for a connection.

"Hey." Sam reached out and slapped Dean's leg. "Found it. This demon or whatever it is has been showing up at a place called 'Hell's Kitchen.'"

"It hangs out in a bar?"

"Regularly," Sam repeated. "As in, for years. Apparently every couple years, this thing shows up on his way to Seattle and has a few drinks before moving on."

"That's different," Dean said. "And nobody has a problem with it?"

"There's been a few bar fights, but since it's not a real strict establishment, the management doesn't mind."

"Somehow the red eyes aren't a big deal either?" Dean asked.

"Fits in with the decor, underground club, lots of Goth kids around, they probably just think he's wearing contacts."

"Either he's a spirit stuck to the place, or he's got business there and he's coming back annually to make sure it takes," Dean said.

"How does that work?"

"I don't know, Sam, why don't we ask him?"

They drove almost nonstop to Western Washington. Sam made a crack about the sensibility of cutting down on their gas mileage with airplane travel, and Dean suggested that they test out the capacity of the trunk.

"I don't think I'd fit, not with all that junk you've got piled in there," Sam said.

"What've you talking about?" Dean wanted to know, and even though Sam wasn't disparaging Dean's car, he was treading close to it.

"You know, the stuff we never use but you think there's the off chance we could, so it stays in there anyway," Sam said.

"Give me an example," Dean ordered.

"Okay, the katana."

"Sam, have you ever tried to take on a Japanese flesh eater with plain old silver? They laugh in your face then they slice you up because you insulted them."

""No I haven't run into any of those things, which leads me to ask, why is there a katana in the trunk?"

"Preparation, Sam. And I've run into one a couple years ago with Dad and Caleb."

"Where did you get the sword?"

"A sword marker in the Cascades."

"Say what?" Sam had a couple theories concerning their lifestyle, but the one that didn't need any further finessing was the apparent truth that they were all of them a bit out there.

"Why'd they move into the mountains?" Sam asked hesitantly.

"Something about the forge and snow," Dean said, brow furrowed as he thought back.

"Okay, so the sword makes a little sense, I'll buy that, but there are other things, that matchbox, what's that about?"

"That's a favor I haven't asked for yet," Dean said.

"From whom?" Sam asked.

"Someone I met."

"Where?"

"In L.A., at a place called Lux."

"Light, from the Latin," Sam said.

"Yeah," Dean said.

"Was it a cool place?" Sam asked.

"Sort of retro, a piano bar and all that, but the owner was interesting." Dean was holding back a lot beyond that one word, but in this instance, he wasn't going to elaborate.

"Okay," Sam said. "The point is, I'm not going to curl up in the trunk."

"Fine."

"Moving on, what are we going to do when we find this thing, whatever it is? If a person's been possessed, it might be too late to save him. And, if it is a demon, we need to know how to get rid of it, permanently."

"If it is a demon, and not a spirit that goes around swiping fine art."

"Whichever, we've got the tools to take care of it. In the trunk," Dean said, looking significantly at Sam.

Dean and Sam pulled into the lot next to a motorcycle and Dean took a few moments to admire it. Inside Hell's Kitchen was a mixture of regulars and students on their way into the city.

People in their familiar places didn't respond to casually inquisitive strangers. They're weren't swayed by press badges when they knew something was going on, and a cop had to know the limits of his authority. Those who seemingly had no interest in anything after their questions were rebuffed had better luck when they stuck around.

Sam and Dean had a short wait and then found stools at the bar in between a guy wearing a custom leather jacket and a red bandana, his sunglasses resting on the bar next to a pool of condensation and another in a suit that had been bought off the rack, but whose every seam had been ironed to make up for its lack of quality.

Sam noticed the careful distance maintained between the two men and glanced at Dean, who grinned. From the sound of it, the man in the suit was missing a mouth guard, and was being conspicuously ignored by everyone not taking money for the beer he kept putting away.

Sam grimaced in Dean's line of sight and his brother signaled back that this could be a messy situation if the wrong thing was said.

The bartender gave the man in the suit a quelling look and got a nod that was more authoritative than fit his comments, which immediately captured one's notice.

As the man in the leather jacket stood up, he dropped his money on the bar and headed for the back exit, sunglasses sliding down over his eyes. He was followed by the guy in the suit.

Dean and Sam trailed after, just two guys looking to prevent someone from getting kicked around for being a dumbass.

Coming out into the alley, the suit had his back to them and was pointing a gun at the guy in leather.

"F.B.I., put your hands up, Lebeau."

"I don't t'ink you want to be pointin' a gun at me, homme," the man warned, and as he raised his hands, he palmed his sunglasses.

"You're not armed," the agent snapped. "It's not your way to carry concealed weapons," he added, sounding very sure of himself, like this man had a file that had been carefully compiled.

Sam moved into a flanking position opposite Dean, prepared to step in or get out of the way. The agent thought he had control of his prisoner, but he was just as out of his depth as he'd been playing at in the bar.

"I'm not de only one in dis alley," the man pointed out and the agent spared Dean and Sam only a glance, showing that he couldn't accurately assess people as threats.

"Those two kids?"

"Hey," Dean said, offended, and Sam motioned at him to shut up.

"You two get out of here, you don't want me to give you any more attention."

Sam thought of the bulletin with Dean's picture on it, that his brother was considered dangerous and that anybody approaching him was to get backup before trying to take him in and he stepped closer to Dean.

"We're not trying to get in your way, sir," Sam said earnestly, "we were just heading out to our car."

"Well go on, then," the agent ordered.

"You're blocking the way," Dean said, much less polite than Sam. He didn't care for law enforcement even when they were competent, and this officer wasn't close to ingratiating himself with Dean.

"I have a better idea," said the guy in leather. He'd been watching Dean and Sam as they took positions, and he'd shifted his stance in a way that wasn't ignorant of what they were up to.

"You need to come with me," the agent ordered.

"On what grounds?" Sam asked.

"Kid, you and your friend need to get out of here, unless you'd like me to get a good look at you while I'm rounding up suspicious individuals."

"What?" Sam said.

"Two guys, going into an alley together, is this his first time?" the man asked Dean, and Sam straight-armed his brother back without taking his eyes off the agent.

"Get lost," he said again, trying to be commanding but not having the effect he was used to. Although he claimed to be from the F.B.I., he hadn't flashed any kind of badge; not the way most would have, and that gave Sam pause. The man wanted Sam and Dean to accept what he was telling them without asking the way these things usually proceeded. For them to object was a deviation from his expectations and that might make them memorable, as they didn't want to be.

"Come on, we have somewhere to be," Dean said. It was a bad idea to try and work around those authorities who were so intent on the job that they were motivated to move the Winchesters out of their way. Whatever else this guy was working for; he had a need to bring this supposedly dangerous criminal in. Since he wouldn't let them close enough to take part under some assumption of inter-agency cooperation, Sam and Dean would just have to stay near and step in when it went down badly.

If this was another hunter, he could even have a day job that gave him money for his suits, or, and the thought was unsettling, he could be contracted. People didn't only hunt monsters, and there was profit in the pursuit of many things, and men were counted by some as the best prey.

"You don't want to get involved in this," he told them.

"Alright, sorry," Sam apologized.

"The car is that way," Dean said, motioning for Sam to lead the way, giving the agent a smile that was only polite in its curve.

"Don't let me catch you hanging around," they were warned.

"You won't," Dean said, and they ducked behind next building over.

"You and those friends of yours get up to some freaky shit, Lebeau. It'd be a service to put you away."

"Like a prison can hold me," Lebeau protested.

"There are other ways to be sure you're not a problem," the hunter said.

There were some painful sounding thumps and gasps of pain before the man appeared around the corner. He'd drug the red-haired man out of the alley and was trying to shove him down to the ground, a piece of metal in his hand. His prisoner struggled and twisted, trying to avoid the object, and he seemed to be nearly free when he was struck in the head for it.

He slumped down, to all appearances unconscious, and the man leaned down.

Dean saw moment; and the red haired man grabbed the hunter's coat. It looked like he was going to beg or something, but the hunter was quick to try and dislodge his grip, not wanting the man's hands on him. It was clear why when they began to glow, and that spread from his handfuls of cloth across so that the hunter's whole jacket was lit up.

"Cloth isn't the best for takin' a charge, but if I have to, it'll do." There was a sound like a match lighting, and the light increased, the air full of static electricity that made hair rise with the energy.

Dean swore and grabbed Sam, directing them out of the way of the blast.

Not a demon, Sam thought, maybe a magic user, less than Sue Anne's amateur collaring of a reaper, but if he had other tricks, he could be just as dangerous.

The red-head scrambled back, objective achieved, getting out of range, Dean surmised, and the hunter swore, scrabbling at the coat as he tore it off. He wasn't fast enough, the air hung full like before a storm and there was an explosion that knocked him off his feet. The agent had been knocked down, stunned and was too groggy to try and apprehend his fugitive. It was probably best that way; he'd try to use bullets when they might turn against him.

Dean and Sam had pulled back around the mouth of the alley to avoid fallout, and when they came out into the open, they found the prisoner getting his feet under him as if he were ready to run.

They were waiting for him to get up, and when he did, one hand braced on the wall to hold himself up, they were ready. Never mind sportsmanship, that didn't factor in when they were already down a few points by way of not having special powers. Psychic abilities weren't on the table with every case after all.

"You need to see if you can get any other stations," Dean said, not taking his eyes off the red-head.

"Excuse me?"

"It'd be good to know if this is one of the yellow eyed demon's cousins and how close the family is on that side," Dean explained.

"I can't believe you suggested that," Sam said.

"It's a good idea."

"Which I'm going to ignore," Sam promised.

"Fine, any idea on where this guy fits in?"

"Not really."

"So," Dean said, and from other people that would have been a lead in to a suggestion, but Sam heard everything in one word.

When the man staggered forward, catching sight of them, Sam and Dean had blocked the exit.

"Merde, there are more of you?" he said, and sounded two parts exhausted and holding his head as if it was weighed more than it should. "Is there any way but the hardest one to resolve this?" he asked, straightening and shaking off his pain. He might not actually want to fight them, but then again, he could tear into the brothers, it depended on what he was pushed to do.

Dean drew his gun and aimed it at his chest. "Either you come with us, without messing around, or I'll put one in you right now."

"As a precaution?" the man asked.

"We like to be sure," Sam said.

"Of what?"

"What we're dealing with."

"And you don't know what I am?"

"It's in question," Dean said.

The guy was talking reasonably, but his hands were loose at his sides and his right was cupped like he had something up his sleeve ready to drop into it. He looked from Dean to Sam and smiled. "My choices are limited, oui?"

"Very," Dean told him, gun trained on every twitch.

"I don' expect you to be reasonable, but it'd be a welcome change in the evening."

"You have expectations?" Sam asked.

Lebeau snorted "Well, I'd hope you'd know how to let something go."

"That's not happening here," Dean assured him.

"Alright, then, why would I go with you?"

"Your second option is hitching out of here and hoping that the next hunter that's tracking you down puts on in you before they ask questions."

"A violent sort, aren't you?"

"It's how things are," Dean said.

"I'm not trying to rile you up, homme, just seeing what you're about."

"Hunting things, monsters."

"And I'm one of them?"

"If you're not a demon, weird power and red eyes aside, what are you?" Sam invited.

"A mutant," Lebeau said. "And it's just the way I was born, and I'm not the only one."

"You're right about that, there are demons out there, and some of them have plans for people with special abilities, they may have even given them those talents."

"De sort of plans you can't live wit'?" Lebeau asked.

"They want to do things to humans, turn them against each other."

"I've seen a lot of unbelievable things, but demons lookin' to take over de world through kids is a new one." He added, "but you're telling the truth."

"You're sure."

"I have a sense of people, comes in handy when I'm dealing wit' strangers."

"Good people skills are a plus," Sam said. He thought that Lebeau didn't mean just one thing when he said he had a sense when it came to people, but he didn't know how to ask.

"So you've never been approached by someone with yellow eyes that smelled like sulfur and talked about how you figured into their plans?"

His expression wary, Lebeau denied it.

"Never?" Dean wasn't convinced, and no wonder, Lebeau had just as much of that slick operator attitude as Dean.

"So, it's not a demon or one of their mules, but what are you doing lifting cursed art?"

"I see that denial will not work wit' you two."

"Not even your best performance," Dean said.

"I steal things, I don't look to see if they're valuable to any sort of monsters first."

"Could be a smart move; a couple of the things you've picked up seem to be important to a ritual they're planning," Sam said.

"You want me to return them?" Lebeau said.

"Or let us cleanse them properly," Sam said.

"And me along with them," Lebeau said, eyes on Dean's gun and the steady way he held it.

The brothers nodded. "Yes."

Lebeau wasn't so comfortable that he was humoring them, but he let Sam cuff him and was led to the car without a problem.

"Have you got a first name?" Dean asked. Riding in his car meant he needed to know that person better than if they were met in passing during an investigation. Neither of them trusted the man, but Dean at least was willing to start somewhere and go in whatever direction he had to from there.

"Remy," answered the man from the backseat.

"You're from New Orleans," Dean said.

"That's where your family's from too?" Sam asked.

"My father and his people do," Lebeau said. "They took me in when I was a boy."

"And he sent you up here to get this painting and bring it back?"

"That's right."

"Doesn't sound too hard."

"Complications happen," Lebeau said and was quiet for the rest of the ride.

The hotel was staffed by people who didn't care enough about what their guests were doing to cause trouble, and the three men made it to the room unquestioned.

Sam put a chair into the center of the room, below the Devil's Trap already drawn in calk on the ceiling.

As he sat down, Lebeau noticed the symbol and guessed its purpose. "You're very prepared," he said.

"Is that a surprise?" Dean asked, not caring about Lebeau's answer, but doing the talking and keeping the focus on him while Sam got the spell components ready.

"When this doesn't work, we're going to have a lot to talk about," Lebeau predicted. He sat back and let himself be bound to the chair. "What's supposed to happen?"

"If you've been possessed, the demon will be yanked out of you."

"And otherwise?"

"You'll be protected from anything that might try and take over your body."

"I don't see that happening, but it's nice to have insurance."

"It certainly is," Dean agreed.

Sam rustled his papers in readiness and Dean took up a position off to the side.

Lebeau sat quietly, blinking when Sam tossed holy water on him, but he didn't hiss and no part of his body smoked as it was touched. His eyes were brighter and it seemed like there should be some sign of a demon's touch, but nothing happened as Sam recited the words of the exorcism they'd used on Meg.

"You want me to do it again?" Sam asked.

"To make sure?"

"Yeah."

Dean shook his head and untied the rope.

"This isn't the first time I've had someone try and cleans my soul," Lebeau informed them. He pushed the rope off and tossed it on the floor. Still in the chair he wiped his hands on his jeans as though he was trying to get something off.

"How'd that go?"

"The priests were very dedicated," Lebeau said and rubbed his wrists unconsciously.

"Very old school," Dean said. "They must have been pissed that they couldn't heal you."

"That's putting it delicately," Lebeau said.

"Now do you believe that I'm not a demon or one of their servants?"

"It looks that way," Sam admitted.

"At this point do the accused get an apology or a drink?"

"I don't think you should be drinking with a possible concussion," Sam told him.

Lebeau gave Sam a disbelieving look. "Are you always so concerned about potentially dangerous people?"

"He can't help it," Dean explained. "It's one of those things."

"Hey," Sam objected.

"Since you're not a demon lurking around nowhere, Washington, why do you keep coming back here?" Dean asked.

"Even if I'm a good guy you still don't have a lick of manners," Lebeau said.

"We just know you're not a demon. Being good is a separate thing."

"Ah. So why should I tell you my business?"

"It saves us time we'd be spending following you around we're sure. You could be doing something nasty."

"With a painting I don't even like?"

"Sure."

"I don' even know what I'd be doing, and don' want to."

"What was with the art spree, then" Dean asked.

"The correct term is search. I've been lookin' for something that was taken from my clan years ago Something that has a value that's only partly based on the work."

"It's got a power," Sam said.

"Oui, it's said to tell the fate of anyone who owns it."

"And this belonged to your family?"

"It was ours through marriage to another family, but they took it back," Lebau said.

"So you've been all over the world trying to find this thing."

"Oui."

"Why?"

"It's a service to my guild and a request made of me."

"You're working for them?"

"Out of duty."

"They took you in and this is paying back the debt."

"You checked me out," Lebeau said.

"Surprised?" Dean asked.

"Non, it's a sign of caution, and that I approve of."

"You got a tip that this family treasure is in the area," Sam said.

"Not exactly. Somebody else has been lookin' for it too, and they might tell me where it is. For a price."

"Someone you don't want to deal with."

"Oui, but it's necessary."

"Sounds dangerous," Dean said, and Sam began shaking his head.

"I'm sure he doesn't need our help, Dean."

"Doesn't hurt to offer," Dean said way too nicely for Sam's liking. The job hadn't turned out to be what they were expecting and if they couldn't find another right away, Dean would be cooped up in a motel room for days. He hated sitting around waiting for something to turn up.

"It's very nice of you," Lebeau said. He was meeting Sam's eyes in a way that hinted he knew what Sam was struggling with and he was smiling a little.

"Would this be dangerous?" Sam asked. He shouldn't be the only one thinking like an adult, and when the words came out, he knew he sounded way too nervous. As if he stayed at home and waited for Dean to bring home dinner.

"Might be."

"Excuse us for a second," Sam said, giving Lebeau his 'professional with a problem' face, seized Dean's arm and dragged him back a few paces.

"Um, what?" Dean said, pushing him away.

"I want to talk to you."

"And you want to get a room for that? If it's about your hair, Sam, it's too late, people have seen you, they know."

"It's not about my hair, and shut up, we haven't had time to get it cut."

"I've offered."

"When you cut my hair I look like a troll."

"That's not the scissors, Sam."

Lebeau coughed and Sam gave him his attention. "Yes?"

"While you two are chatting, I'm gonna clean up a bit, give you some privacy." As he stood up, he shrugged off his coat and headed into the bathroom.

"That was really badly done," Dean said.

"I don't think we should go with this guy," Sam said, ignoring Dean's invitation to continue bickering. It was what they did, but Lebeau was a stranger, and they had no idea what he was doing in the state or even what trouble he could bring them. With all the other stuff they had to watch out for, they didn't need another person's enemies after them, and just from what little Sam had seen of this guy, he was a 'person of interest' in connection with cases still unsolved and some more dangerous than strange.

"Dean, one minute we're pouring holy water on this guy, and now you want to tag along doing whatever's could have gotten him imprisoned in seven countries."

"Seven?"

"Either he's good at evading police custody, or people aren't around who've put him away," Sam insisted. "You saw what he did to that hunter."

"Can't exactly blame him, Sam. He was defending himself."

"How far will you let him go with that excuse?"

"What's your problem, Sam? If he needs our help, we can give him a hand, and if not, we'll hang around and try to find another case."

"You just want to go out and break something expensive," Sam accused.

"Nah, just something evil, that'll be enough ."

"To work off that tension?"

"I know what'll get me relaxed, Sam, but I can't get any of that with you hanging onto my arm."

"I don't know that, I don't want to, and please, let it stay that way."

Sam was mostly putting on a show to change the subject, and Dean could tell that he'd won the argument.

"Great, so we're not busy if you need backup for this meting," Dean told Lebeau. as he came out of the bathroom, hair wet and combed out of his eyes with his fingers and his collar wet. He'd scrubbed off the grime from the alley and appeared more comfortable.

"I wouldn't be doin' anything nasty with a painting, as you said, but that'd be nicer than talking to the bete I'm meeting."

"What's that?"

"It's French, Dean. Beast, I think," Sam said. "I always went more for Latin, at least it's universal."

Sam was ready to tell Dean that all romance languages had Latin as a root, but he knew his brother was focused on a potential fight.

"What's this guy know that makes you willing to talk to him? You think he's had contact with someone who handled the painting?" Sam asked.

"More like he's been after them and if he's not cleaning up from

"He's hunting the same thing you are."

"But he doesn't care how many people he has to go through to get it."

"That's his way."

"Sounds like a dangerous animal."

"He is."

"Is he one of these mutants? Like you?"

Lebeau nodded.

"Can you recognize another mutant just by looking at them?"

"Not like with demons. Many of us don't seem any different than you two."

"Useful fact," Dean said. "But not all of them can get by that way."

"Creed is one of them," Lebeau said.

"What's his deal?"

"He's a feral murderer who heals any wound and doesn't care about anyone but himself."

"Could he have tracked you?"

"He doesn't need to; he knows that I'm coming for the painting, and even if he tosses it, I might not let up."

"You have a beef with him?"

"Lot of blood spilled."

"So is this about you getting him or the painting?"

"I'm not the only one who'd take Creed down for the hell of it, but we mostly keep out of each other's way. He works best up close and I'm not interested in letting him near me."

"Okay," Dean said understandingly.

He'd been watching Lebeau as he spoke, and had gotten a measure of the man. With that, Sam would go off his own best guess and se how Dean held himself at his back.

"What you need to know, is that even if you shoot him, Creed will get up again. You want to be gone by then."

"He holds a grudge," Sam said.

"Oh, no doubt of that."

"How are we going to find him?"

"I've been tracing the sale of the painting from the time it was misplaced in transit."

"Won't that other family want it back?"

"They're desperate. Between power struggles and a police crackdown, they have less clout in the community than ever. To have it back would give them much needed standing."

"You have the address for where the painting was last sold?"

"Here." Lebeau reached into his pants pocket and unfolded a slip of paper.

"I know where that is," Sam said.

"Wee passed it when we were looking for Hell's Kitchen."

"Then let's go, before Creed shows up," Dean suggested, and they headed out.

"I'd rather Creed didn't get your scents; he can remember people that way and you don't need him following you."

"I have no problem avoiding that," Dean said.

"You want back up, but for us to hang out of sight."

"We'll keep an eye on things," Sam agreed. He was happier staying out of this until he was sure of Lebeau's motivations; the man hadn't shared even close to a fraction of what had gone on between him and Creed, Sam knew that much for certain.

"You get him outside and we'll be around."

"You're not worried?" Sam asked.

"I've been getting into it with Creed since I was a kid. We have a routine."

"Be careful," Sam said.

"What's the fun in that?" Dean asked.

"I'm only careful when I'm not looking for a good time," Lebeau agreed.

Dean smirked and Sam gave him a look to warn him off considering bonding over their twin reckless streaks. His brother didn't require any encouragement on that front.

"These things never happen in nice sunny places," Dean said.

"That probably has to do with what's going on," Sam said.

"So you think nothing good goes on in alleys?" Dean said. "A bit broadly judgmental, isn't it?"

"Are you an expert on what happens?" Sam wondered.

"It's one of those things you just need to accept," Dean advised.

"Are you going to be okay staying out of sight?" Sam asked.

"Why not?"

"Because you're Dean Winchester."

"And I've got you around to red maps, track down the bad guys and be annoying."

"I'm touched, really, that's sweet of you," Sam said and punched Dean in the arm.

"Ow, knock it off, I hear them."

Sam leaned on the ledge and peered over the edge to look at the alley below. He couldn't see anyone moving around, but he heard raised voices, one of them speaking with an accent and the other a low bass that locked Sam's muscles instinctively. That second voice belonged to the person Lebeau had come there to meet, Sam knew that for certain and was more on guard.

A door banged open and two figures stormed outside, gesturing at each other, the taller one trying to intimidate the red-head with size and a growling that didn't sound human. If he hadn't been able to see him walking on two legs, Dean would have figured that he was a big cat, one that he'd seen in books about prehistoric animals. That someone like that was into whatever Lebeau did made Dean think that there was way more to it than stealing paintings. These mutants might be different, but that didn't make them friends, not all of them. Even if it meant there were factions of individuals with strange powers out there who they couldn't identify by testing for sulfur, it was a bit of a break; it told Dean that some of them might have plans that went beyond just getting what they wanted and walking away from a burning building.

"Look, Creed, I know you've been here, it stinks like you marked your territory everywhere."

"It's always about your delicates, isn't it, Lebeau? You're just mad that you didn't get here first."

"If I had, that storekeeper wouldn't be in the hospital."

"Where'd you get that? Nobody was inside except me."

"You didn't take the time to wash the walls, blood smears are very telling."

"Then they should have told you to back off. Before I make you." Creed took another step forward, towering over Lebeau. "You've never been this touchy after I explained things my way."

"And I've always thought that muzzle Xavier fitted you with looked tres appropriate."

Creed snarled and pulled his arm back to hit Lebeau.

Dean aimed for just an inch off center from his right eye and fired.

"What the hell's going on?" Creed said. He'd jumped out of the way of the bullet, but was looking around and expecting another shot with the alertness of the animal when the hunters have announced their presence.

"You've never been reasonable when it comes to business deals, Creed, and I've never counted on your manners anyway," Lebeau said.

"You brought along help?" Creed demanded. "When I'm done with you, I'll hunt them down and rip out their throats."

"That's why they're not going to introduce themselves," Lebeau said.

"Cowards," Creed shouted at the rooftops. He had to have known that someone was above him, but the air currents weren't in his favor and he couldn't smell Dean and Sam or be sure of where they were hiding.

"That will of course make them come out and face you," Lebeau goaded and Creed turned back to the Cajun.

"Then I'll-" he began to threaten and Lebeau pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. It changed color, glowing the way that the hunter's jacket had, and Dean motioned for Sam to keep his head down.

"You're going to be a good kitty and let me have what I came here for and I won't take what I'm owed for Genevieve out of your hide," Lebeau said, unmoved by Creed's spitting fury.

"Is that right?"

"It is." Lebeau held Creed's stare until he smiled, showing teeth that even at a distance, looked longer than they should be.

"Just like when Sinister sent us on a mission and you wanted your cut, you'd step up to take it." Creed still sounded upset, but not as homicidal, like he was settling into a working mode, but with that ferocity barely held back.

Lebeau didn't respond to Creed's dig about 'Sinister,' and spun the card around deftly, keeping its danger in the fore. "The painting, Creed, where is it?"

"I was contracted by the only Guild in New Orleans that knows how to follow through. They wanted me to bring it back to them for a fee. But when I got here, the owner said he didn't have it anymore. He was lying, but he wouldn't talk. I figure it's hidden somewhere in that junk heap of a store. I was going through it when you came around." He sniffed and shrugged. "It's not like they weren't going to try and bump me off when I handed it over, better they find out you have it instead, less problems for me."

"Glad to ease your mind," Lebeau said.

"You won't have any trouble with them," Creed said, and his tone was approaching fond. "A blood debt's not something you forget. I'm sure you can handle it." He stepped back, putting his hands in his pockets, and nodded at Lebeau. "Good luck with the Guild, and I'll see you around, pup."

"A bientot," Lebeau said, and watched Creed walk away. He stood in the alley, waiting to see if Creed was going to turn around and challenge him, but after eight or nine minutes, he waved at Dean and Sam to come down and meet him on the ground.

"What was that all about?" Sam demanded immediately.

"I was negotiating," Lebeau said, unperturbed by Sam's bluntness.

"It looked like you knew each other."

"We do. His nature is well known."

"What about you? He said that you two worked together for someone named 'Sinister,' that doesn't sound like something a good guy would do."

"Have you always been in the right?" Lebeau looked annoyed and he headed into the building where he'd found Creed.

"No," Sam said.

"Then I don' need to explain myself to you, homme. Everybody makes choices and then whatever happens, they have to deal with them."

"You," Dean said, coming between Lebeau and his brother, "need to quit it with the morality debates. Neither one of you is competing for anything and I don't need to be impressed."

"Non?" Lebeau asked, turning to smile warmly at Dean.

"Are you gonna buy me a drink later?" Dean asked.

"It would be a pleasure," Lebeau assured.

"Fine. Sam, come off the justice league bit and you, don't get in my brother's face about your business. He's got a point." Having said what he wanted, Dean surveyed the small store, its inventory spread out across the room and groaned. "This Creed guy, is his mutant power destroying furniture or what?"

Lebeau let out a laugh. "A bit more dangerous than that, but I should tell him that when we meet next."

"You think you'll be seeing each other?" Sam asked.

"Absolutement. He is difficult to avoid and we've run in the same circles for some time."

"Is the painting still here, do you think?"

"It must be; I see nothing of more than several thousand dollars value in this disaster," Lebeau pronounced. "Everything of greater worth has to be stored elsewhere."

Dean's foot nudged at the heavy oriental rug that was the only thing not ripped or thrown around. "Like under this?"

Sam walked the room, stepping heavily on purpose and tapping the walls. "The wall is uneven, I'd say there's a door around here, here." He stopped in front of an imitation Kinkade and moved it aside.

"Great," Dean said, and moved to help Sam expose the wall. "Here we go," he said, pleased, as their efforts revealed a trap door cut unevenly in the surrounding boards. It looked like it had been done recently, and hurriedly.

"He got word that someone was after the painting," Lebeau said.

"So he tried to hide it," Sam said. "Why not just let Creed take it?"

"Would you let him?"

"Yeah, I wouldn't either," Sam said.

Lebeau reached out and laid his hand on the wall. It lit up like all the other times he'd used his powers, and there was a muffled explosion and a space was left in its wake.

"Well, that makes it easier than prying it off," Dean said. He gave Lebeau a considering look. "You're good at controlling that."

"I'm very experienced," Lebeau said.

"Is that so?" Dean said playfully. "Anything you want to share?"

"That's enough," Sam said, not wanting to watch two people, one of them his brother, ratchet up the tension up trying to out-suave the other. "We're supposed to be looking for a painting, not setting up a date."

"One's just a bonus," Dean said.

"This isn't the local bar, and I did not need to hear that," Sam told him. "Now reach in there and find the painting so we can get of of here already." He shoved Dean toward the opening in the wall and gave Lebeau a quelling glance while his brother felt around."

"Got it," Dean said and pulled out a tube. He pulled the top off and passed the rolled up canvas to Lebeau. "Is this it?"

"It is." Lebeau stared at the painting for a couple seconds and Sam got a glimpse of a scene out of a medieval court: a woman, blonde, dressed in a red gown, being paid tribute by men in period appropriate clothing.

"That doesn't look like it can tell the future," Dean said, peering over Lebeau's shoulder.

"It preserves a time in the Guilds history, and within that is a lesson as well as things yet to come."

"Is that your way of saying you don't know how it works, either?"

"The Benefactress who gave the Guilds their gifts would be able to explain it, but she is no longer in contact with us. Only the Elders are aware of its power and they don' always want to explain these thing," Lebeau said.

"Got it," Dean said.

Lebeau slid the painting carefully back into its case and slid the strap over his shoulder. "I'd say we should get out of here." He pulled a pair of gloves from his pocket and a cloth and began wiping down the surfaces they'd touched. "The less time I spend explaining myself to the police the easier my work is."

"It can be hard to expect anyone to understand," Dean said, and Sam rolled his eyes.

"Why don't you just ask him out for a drink, already, I don't think I can be shocked anymore."

"I was going to see if he wanted to come back to our room later," Dean said in a low voice, and Sam choked.

"Or is that going too fast," Dean wondered, apparently unconcerned that his brother was having trouble breathing.

"I am not sleeping in the next bed while you two, get to know each other better," Sam declared.

"You're right, I wonder if he has a room," Dean said.

"More information than I ever needed," Sam said.

"Hey, Lebeau," Dean said as the other man finished cleaning the room and they headed for the door, "do you have to get that thing to New Orleans right away?"

"I can work with the deadline," Lebeau said. "Why?"

"You want to have a drink and maybe explain this whole mutant deal to me?"

Lebeau's smile was wide and somehow Sam felt its heat as a pleasurable wave over his body. He shook it off, but noticed Dean felt it too and was enjoying it. "Oh, I think I can make time for that."

"Cool," Dean said.

Sam sighed and reached into Dean's pocket. "Here, I'll drive you two back and then I'm going to find us another case." He didn't know why he bothered, Lebeau and Dean were exchanging improbably stories about how they'd outwitted the police and it didn't look like they were going to run out of things to say anytime soon.


End file.
